Death on the Waterfront

by Robert Archer

  Powers nodded.

  “And what time did the doc get here?” asked Nicholson. “Quarter of eleven,” said the sheriff promptly. “I brought him along with me. Powers here phoned my office at ten-thirty.”

  “What were you doing between ten and ten-thirty?” McArthur asked Powers suspiciously.

  The butler met McArthur’s glare. “I was unconscious,” he replied dryly.

  McArthur sniffed. “I think the whole story’s a pack of lies,” he charged. “It’s too pat. This fellow killed his master and took the money.”

  Powers leaped to his feet. “That’s not true,” he cried desperately.

  “You have no right——”

  Sheriff Christy put a large brown hand on the butler’s chest and pushed him back into his chair with surprising ease.

  “Shut up and take it easy,” he ordered. “Your story’ll be checked and double-checked. If you’re telling the truth you’re okay, and if you’re lying we’ll find it out and then your goose’ll be cooked proper.” He drew the county attorney aside. “I wish you’d stop goin’ off half cocked like that, Mac,” he complained. “It ain’t gettin’ us anywhere.”

  “I think we’re wasting time,” growled McArthur. “If you’d let me question this fellow——”

  The sheriff shrugged. “You can question him all you’re a mind to when I get through with him. He ain’t gonna run away.” He turned pointedly from the county attorney and addressed Nicholson.

  “Less’n I miss my guess, Captain, you were tryin’ to find out what time Murdock died.”

  Stern grinned broadly, and Nicholson hid his amusement only by a supreme effort. “Why, yes, Sheriff,” he admitted. “That was one of the things I was interested in.”

  “Doc said he’d been dead between one and two hours. That’d make it sometime between eight-thirty and ten o’clock. If Jackson came out in that car we found smashed up down the road he could have got here shortly after nine-thirty. There was a clock on the dashboard of the car, that had stopped at that time.”

  “I’d sure like to talk to that guy Gordon,” murmured Nicholson. “One thing about that fellow,” the sheriff said thoughtfully, “he’s got a pretty good alibi. Even without the bump on his head, he didn’t have time to get up here and back to the car before the state trooper that reported the accident found him. Then, too, he don’t answer the description of this fellow that Powers saw.”

  Nicholson laughed. “You have the advantage of us there, Sheriff. We haven’t heard that part of the story yet.”

  The deputy Phillips entered and handed a slip of paper to the sheriff. “Here’s the dope on them telephone calls,” he drawled easily. “And say, Jake, them newspaper fellows are raisin’ the roof. What’ll I tell ‘em?”

  “Tell ‘em to keep their shirts on. I’ll give ‘em a statement as soon as I know what to say.” Christy glanced at the paper in his hand and slapped his thigh. “By George, here’s something. There were four telephone calls this morning, three incoming calls and one t’other way, and all but one of ‘em were on Murdock’s private wire.” He looked at Powers keenly. “You mean to say you didn’t know anything about these other three calls?”

  “Nothing, sir, I assure you,” Powers insisted. “As I told you, Mr. Murdock took all the calls that came over the private wire personally, and the ring of the instrument cannot be heard from other parts of the house.”

  The sheriff grunted. “Well, let’s get back to what happened this morning. You had orders to call Mr. Murdock at ten o’clock?” Powers nodded.

  “You didn’t enter this room before ten o’clock?”

  “No sir.”

  “And no one else did as far as you know?”

  “There was no one else here, sir—that is, no one that I knew of.”

  “Okay. And these windows were locked from the inside?”

  “They were locked last night. I assured myself of that before I retired.”

  “Would Murdock be likely to leave them open while he was working this morning?” asked Stern. It was the first indication of interest he had shown.

  “I hardly think it likely,” said Powers. He turned back to the sheriff. “If you’ll pardon the observation, sir, I am certain that the—er—slayer was someone known to Mr. Murdock for two reasons; first, because Mr. Murdock had very sharp ears, and I am sure no one could enter the room without his being aware of it. If you’ve noticed, sir, the french windows squeak slightly when they are opened. I spoke to Shawn, the handy man, about them some time ago. Second, and even more important if you knew Mr. Murdock’s habits, he was fully dressed except for a smoking jacket. You’ll notice there’s a shower and lavatory beyond the den there, and the master invariably took a shower on arising and donned a robe. He did not change to street clothes until time to go to the office—usually at about nine o’clock. However, he was very sensitive about appearing before outsiders in his robe and always dressed when he had to see anyone other than the immediate household, even if it were only a trades-person; also, he had intended to sleep late this morning and would have done so had he not been disturbed. It seems logical to assume, sir, if you’ll forgive my presumption, that someone he knew called him this morning on the private phone and made an appointment.”

  The long speech was evidence that Powers had recovered his self-possession remarkably since he first entered the room; also, that he was by no means unobservant or lacking in intelligence. His manner was so candid and straightforward that even McArthur seemed impressed.

  “That’s an extremely plausible explanation, I will admit,” the county attorney said, “except for one thing. Why wouldn’t a caller come to the front door?”

  “I’m sure I can’t tell you that,” said Powers, “unless it was because he didn’t want to be seen. I do know, however, that there have been previous occasions on which Mr. Murdock had callers who came and left by the french windows.”

  “How did you know that?” asked Sheriff Christy.

  Powers hesitated. “It’s rather a long story, sir.”

  “Never mind,” insisted the sheriff, “let’s hear it.”

  “Well.” Powers stirred in his chair and glanced uncertainly from one to the other of his questioners. “I and the other servants had strict orders not to mention the incident, but perhaps under the present circumstances——”

  McArthur snapped impatiently. “Come on, man, cut the stalling.” Powers’ eyes flicked resentfully to McArthur’s face and back to the sheriff. Finally he sighed. “Very well. The incident happened one night about six weeks ago. Annie, one of the maids, saw a stranger come up the path that leads from a country road back of the garage and enter the house through these windows. She naturally thought the man was a prowler and raised an alarm. Both the chauffeur and myself were in the kitchen at the time, and we came to investigate but when I tried the door it was locked. I knocked, and Mr. Murdock came out in a huff and told us to mind our own business.”

  “Did the maid get a good look at this fellow?” asked Nicholson. “No sir. She only saw him from an upstairs window and at a distance.”

  Stern joined the questioning. “But you saw him, didn’t you, Powers?” he asked quietly.

  Powers looked at Stern a long moment. His jaw set stubbornly, and he seemed about to deny the statement. Finally he lifted his hands and let them fall on the arms of his chair in a gesture of resignation. “Yes sir,” he admitted. “I saw him. I don’t want you to think I’m a snooping servant, gentlemen, but I feel that it’s my duty to know what goes on in the house. The incident upset me, and I determined to satisfy myself that nothing was wrong, so I went outside and tried to see in through the library windows. The curtains were drawn, but I did manage to get a glimpse of a person sitting here at the table and talking to Mr. Murdock. The circumstances reassured me, and I withdrew.”

  Sheriff Christy nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What did this fellow look like?”

  Powers shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I only saw th
e man’s back—a fleeting glimpse. Beyond the fact that he was tall and rather thin——”

  “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. I might and I might not. I really can’t say.”

  “Hell’s bells,” said the sheriff mildly. “You’ll have to do better than that. This might be important.”

  “If I may presume, sir”—Powers paused and then seemed to come to a decision—“I’ve been wondering if the man I saw last night was the same as the one who attacked me today. I didn’t see either clearly but I’ve made up my mind now they couldn’t be the same.” Nicholson groaned. “Then you won’t be able to identify either man?”

  “Except to say they’re not the same man,” said Powers. “I’m positive about that. The man who struck me was heavier and impressed me as being younger than the other.”

  Stern leaned back in his chair. “That’s a help,” he said. “Now we got two mysterious strangers to worry about.”

  “Well, I don’t know.” Sheriff Christy pulled at his lower lip. “It ain’t much help for a fact but it might save us chasin’ after the wrong man.”

  “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” grinned Stern. “Which one’ll you pick, Sheriff?”

  The old man looked at him in mild reproof. Nicholson gestured impatiently. “That sort of horseplay doesn’t get us anywhere.

  Perhaps if we would let the witness tell us the rest of what took place this morning we’d get a clearer picture.”

  “I think you’ve got something there,” said Stern.

  “Yeah, I know,” admitted the sheriff. “I been trying to get around to that, but we keep gettin’ sidetracked.” He nodded to Powers. “Go on.”

  “Yes sir.” Powers smiled a faint, butlerish smile. “Nothing unusual happened after the telephone rang, and at ten o’clock I came to waken Mr. Murdock. I rapped on the library door and turned the knob, but the door was locked. I opened it with my master key and came into the room——”

  “Whoa,” interrupted the sheriff. “I don’t get that about the door. You say it was locked on the inside?”

  “Yes sir. There was nothing strange about that. Mr. Murdock often snapped the catch on the hall door when he worked late and did not want to be disturbed. I was the only member of the household who had a key.”

  The sheriff frowned. “Then there’s no way of telling whether Mr. Murdock or someone else locked the door?”

  “I wouldn’t know that, sir. Of course, at the time I assumed Mr. Murdock had locked it the night before and I unlocked and opened it, intending to come through this room and rap on the door of the den. It was a terrible shock when I saw that—when I saw Mr. Murdock’s body in the chair. I stopped and just stood there for a minute not able to move a finger. Then I heard a small noise behind me—somewhat like a sigh—and I turned around——”

  “Behind you?” interrupted Nicholson.

  Powers inclined his head. “That’s right, sir. You see, I had come several paces into the room before I noticed the body. The door swings inward and hides the room until one is past it.”

  “I see. Did you leave the door open?” Nicholson asked.

  The butler’s eyes rested on Nicholson’s face for a moment before he answered. “You have undoubtedly observed that all the doors of the house are equipped with air-pressure gadgets that close them automatically,” he said finally.

  Nicholson grinned.

  The sheriff prompted, “Okay. You heard a noise and turned around...”

  “That’s correct,” said the butler. “Well, sir, there was this person standing behind me. It naturally did not occur to me then, but he must have been behind the door when I opened it. He had on a brown hat pulled down over his eyes and a brown tweed topcoat with the collar turned up. There was a handkerchief over the lower part of his face. I just caught a glimpse of him when he hit me with something he held in his raised hand, but it failed to render me unconscious, and I reached out and grappled with him. He must have hit me again then, sir, for that’s the last thing I remember until I recovered and found myself lying there on the floor.”

  McArthur looked a silent question at the sheriff, and the old man nodded.

  Nicholson asked, “How tall was the man?”

  “About six feet, roughly, I should say, sir.”

  “Did he wear gloves?”

  “Now that you mention it, sir, I believe he did—brown gloves—I had the impression they were pigskin.”

  Nicholson’s eyes sparkled. “What else, man? Think hard.”

  “His hair,” Powers said slowly. “As I told you, his hat was tilted to one side, and I had the impression that his hair was black and curly. That is one of the things which make me think he was not the man I had seen with Mr. Murdock.”

  McArthur emitted a sound slightly like that made by a trumpeting elephant. “You see,” he exploded. “That’s sheer embroidery.

  No man on earth——”

  The sheriff’s glower silenced him. “You’ve got a single-track mind, Mac,” the old man snapped. “It’s a wonder to me how you ever win a case in court. I don’t know myself, yet, whether Powers is lying or not but if he is I’ll say one thing—he’s doin’ a damn good job of it.”

  “I am not lying,” said Powers simply. “A servant learns to be observant, sir. It’s part of his training.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” grunted the sheriff. “Does seem like you saw an awful lot while this guy was crackin’ you on the head but maybe, for all I know, you’re one of these fellows with a photographic eye, whatever that is. Anyhow, if any such guy as you describe was around here this morning we’ll find him.”

  “I sincerely hope so, sir,” murmured Powers.

  “What did you do after you phoned for the police?”

  “I lay down, sir—perhaps collapsed would be a better word-on the lounge in the living room.”

  “You didn’t come back into this room?”

  Powers shook his head. “I had had quite enough of this room for one morning, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

  McArthur looked up from his drawings. “You say you served refreshments in this room last night before you went to bed?”

  “Yes sir.”

  McArthur jerked his head toward the table. “I don’t see any tray or glasses. What happened to them?”

  “I found them in the kitchen this morning, sir. Mr. Murdock must have removed them before he went to bed.”

  “You didn’t remove them yourself this morning?”

  The butler said wearily, “I’ve told you over and over again that I touched nothing in this room.”

  Sheriff Christy rose and stretched. “Okay,” he yawned. “I’m sorry but I’ll have to hold you as a material witness, Mr. Powers. I guess that’ll be all for now though, unless you gentlemen have any other questions.” He looked at Nicholson and then across at Stern.

  “Just one,” said Stern. He addressed himself to Powers. “When you first came into the room did you notice those keys on the table?”

  Powers hesitated, then he passed a hand over his eyes and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, sir. My head aches severely. I’m afraid I can’t remember anything about the table. I saw only Mr. Murdock...

  It was the only time during the interview that Powers had pleaded either indisposition or forgetfulness.

  4. Secretary

  “I don’t know how you gentlemen feel about it,” said Nicholson as the door closed behind Powers, “but this thing is no mystery as far as I’m concerned. Once we find this fellow Jackson—if we do find him before he ships out to China or South America—we’ll clear up your murder and ours too. Just take a look at the facts: the man who killed that longshoreman last night wore Jackson’s shoes and used a longshoreman’s cargo hook with Jackson’s initial on it; Jackson was the last person seen with the murdered man; he had quarreled with Riorden earlier in the evening and had been accused, also by Riorden, of spying on the union; he disappeared after the murder and has
not been seen since.

  “Now tie that in with what we know about this case. Murdock knew who the stool pigeon was—therefore he knew the killer. Jackson called Murdock early this morning and said he was coming out here. Jackson’s pal is found near a wrecked car a half mile from this house, and it’s established that the car was wrecked at nine-thirty, giving Jackson time to walk up here, strangle Murdock, bop the butler, and walk off with the ten thousand dollars. Why did Murdock have ten thousand dollars in the house? A smart businessman doesn’t keep that kind of dough in a tin box like that safe over there. He had it to pay Jackson off, of course, but Jackson outsmarted him—he got the dough and shut Murdock’s mouth at the same time. We’ve got evidence enough to burn half a dozen men there—what more do we need?”

  McArthur said reluctantly, “You make a very strong case, Captain Nicholson, a much stronger case, I’m frank to admit, than we have against the butler, Powers. I’m inclined to agree with you, at least as far as your own case is concerned, but I still say that there’s nothing to prove that Powers didn’t murder his master. Powers admitted hating his master and also that he knew of the money in the safe. He’s a clever, resourceful fellow and could have set the stage to make it look like robbery and cracked himself on the head. He seemed such a logical suspect to me at first that perhaps I was a little hasty, but I still say he could have done it, although I won’t say he did.”

  “Do you mind if I stick my two cents in?” asked Stern lazily, “because I think you’re both jumping at the obvious and I think you’re both all wet.”

  “Nonsense,” harrumphed McArthur, indignantly, “everyone except amateurs knows that ninety-nine crimes out of every hundred are solved either by direct information or by finding the person with the best motive, plus opportunity, and hammering away at that person until either you’ve proven him innocent or built up a case that will hold in court. Both Captain Nicholson and myself are being practical. We’re not overlooking facts just because they happen to be under our noses. I’ll say this much: I wouldn’t have the slightest hesitation in going before a grand jury and demanding an indictment on the basis of either of the cases outlined here—and I’d get it; don’t think I wouldn’t.”